Awareness Test II

You are (I hope) taking these tests seated behind a desk. Now imagine attempting the equivalent whilst piloting a 1.5-ton car, a 2-ton SUV, a 12-ton truck, or a 20-ton bus.

Or, they are taking the test.

And, you are the cyclist.


Related post
Awareness Test

Change is inevitable

(except from vending machines).

The plan was a 34 km Mandai-Yishun Dam ride, but there was a route change.




Hence, instead of the picture above...





I get to post this.

149.8 miles = 239.7 km

I guess this is what jocks (or himbos) call having a pair?

  :-P


Bonus round

Eating crow.
   —  a primer.
   —  recipes.





Pwnage.
   —  a video illustration.



To quote Khrushchev,

Мы вас похороним! (We will bury you!)

And you know what?

We did.

:-P





Victory dance.



Related post
Death by Chocolate

Never beat a pulling mule

                            Beware the Man

         Beware the man who tries to fit you out
         In his idea of a hat
         Dictating the colour & shape of it.

         He takes your head & carefully measures it
         Says "of course black's out" —
         He sees himself in the big black hat.

         So you may be a member of the act
         He makes for you your special coloured hat.
         Beware! He's fitting you for more than that.


         Sam Hunt (1946-)


Another year, another month, another wannabe do-gooder, Goody Two Shoes tries to rope me in for some organized public campaign ride; and so, I dug up a particularly trenchant reply, used a few months ago, replete in the local vernacular:

Organized group cycling for a cause? Nah, no longer interested in S'porean group efforts. Cycle for cancer; cycle for homeless; cycle for diarrhoea; cycle for tummy too big; cycle for minister pay too low . . .. All kinds of nonsense. I rather cycle for myself. Been there, done that: 1990 to 1995. Yen tao too old already.

Now, while I appreciate — and heartily applaud — the efforts of those who volunteer their time and effort to promote cycling, I ride for myself, and myself only. It cuts down the amount of bullshit and drama in my life. (No, I'm not in the least involved in the example cited. Thank Gawd.) I help whom I choose; when I choose; how I choose. There are no rules to follow: I don't report to anyone; I don't have to be nice to anyone; and, I leave at any time. So, for your own sake, you really don't want me in your group-hugging organization / team / clusterfuck; be it Team Mas Selamat, Team Pulau Blakang Mati, Tekka Nasi Brani, or whatever Turd-World-masquerading-as-First-World tribal permutations your fellow free-sample-queuing / Hello-Kitty-kid's-meal-snatching / Pinkerton-Syndrome-afflicted natives can drum up in your MOE-sanctioned / MOM-subsidized Creativity Workshops.

Now, some may pan this stance as selfish and unfair, but I am not running for a popularity contest here, so I don't give half a fig what anyone thinks. I was riding before anyone judged me on this, and I will still be riding long after the whiners have passed out from whinging. As for being unfair, pay particular attention to points 2, 4, and perhaps even 5, of P. J. O'Rourke's politically incorrect piece, "Fairness, idealism and other atrocities."




Keep moving. You will not find a pawn here.

Just because I have skills that are useful to you or your organization doesn't mean that I agree to be used.

To quote the greatest mountaineer's motto:

I am my own home and my handkerchief is my flag.

         (Reinhold Messner)


For the record, I do contribute, but at my call; in my way; and, at my own time only. Exempli gratia:

         Service Your Crankbrothers eggbeaters

         Pointers

Put it in another way: I have no problem cooking for others, but I'll be damned if I'm your short order cook. So, stay the hell out of my kitchen. Force me, and you might find yourself dining on fillet mignon with toadstools and strychnine.

La caronade, lancée par le tangage, fit un trouée dans ce tas d'hommes et en écrasa quatre du premier coup, puis, reprise et décochée par le roulis, elle coupa en deux un cinquième misérable, et alla heurter à la muraille de bâbord une pièce de la batterie qu'elle démonta. De là le cri de détresse qu'on venait d'entendre. Tous les hommes se pressèrent à l'escalier-échelle. La batterie se vida en un clin d'oeil.

L'énorme pièce avait été laissée seule. Elle était livrée à elle-même. Elle était sa maîtresse, et la maîtresse du navire. Elle pouvait en faire ce qu'elle voulait.

         (Quatrevingt-treize (1872), Victor Marie Hugo)

For the Racer Ya Yas

A reality check from Guy Andrews and Simon Doughty:


       And, despite what your long-term riding aspirations may be, don't be tempted to try to set yourself up as a pro rider. Pro bike riders are professional because they are extremely talented athletes. You have probably realized by now[. . .] that to make it into the pro peloton you have to be able to ride a bike extremely fast and for a very long time. And that isn't easy[. . ..]

       Flexibility and the physical ability to ride 20,000 - 25,000 miles (35,000 - 40,000 km) a year means that the bike setup a pro rider rides is never going to be suitable for the rider who rides a fraction of that distance, and can barely touch his toes. So be realistic about the bike you ride — in reality, it might be slowing you down.

                                         [ . . . ]

       A pound of weight saved from your body is worth far more than any weight you can save off your bike. There is a reason that skinny, slight Spanish climbers go faster in the hills than big Belgian rouleurs. So before you rush off and spend a small fortune on the latest carbon wheels or titanium frame, think about it. Do you really need that ice cream?

(Andrews, Guy and Simon Doughty.  The Cyclist's Training Manual: Fitness and Skills for Every Rider.  Connecticut:  Falcon,  2007.  10, 49.)

                                         ---------

Awareness Test

For cell (mobile) phone supporters, try doing this while chatting or texting.

Why solo?

Into the Mist.
By Greg Martin.

Columbia Gorge, Oregon.
9-shot composite, Canon SD800 IS.

On wrenching, or, the sheer audacity of idiots too lazy to learn

There exists a peculiar group herd of inDUHviduals out there who think feel that just because I acquired the skills of a bicycle mechanic, I am obligated to come to their assistance, or, worse still, that my services can be purchased. Nothing is further from the truth.

Let me make this clear: if I like you, I may help you; if I don't, no amount of money/flattery/gifts/food/alcohol/lascivious offers of coitus (or, rather, cooties. Ugh!) would persuade me to render you any assistance.

By the way, this is why I am adamant in my refusal to hire out my services as a bicycle mechanic to bike shops. To do so would mean surrendering my autonomy as I would have to service a customer's bike whether I like him/her or not. Now, before I am chided for being idealistic or naive, two close friends run their businesses in this manner. One of them is the sole owner of a camping outfit with a turnover in excess of a million dollars a year. If he likes you, he deals with you. If he doesn't, you are instructed — in no uncertain language — to take a hike. For what it is worth, Professor Shirley Geok-Lin Lim operates in pretty much the same manner. But I digress.

While I am by no means the best bike mechanic, I am certainly one endowed with freewill. So, if you are whining away about a problem with your bike, and I don't offer to help — don't ask.

Pick up a book. Learn something.
Those who took the time and trouble to learn don't owe you anything.

That is all.

A locked out fork, retarded hikers, failed bunny hops, and a big bike

As Guan Peng overslept, the guys decided to meet at 8:30 AM. The extra half-hour allowed me the luxury of firing off a particularly humorous post.



8:45 AM. Guan Peng is still asleep. Here, NicIz2HardKore is deciding which tree he would hang GP from.





I really don't know what is it with park users on this repressed, mollycoddled, schizophrenic, little island. At East Coast Park, jogging and cycling paths are clearly demarcated with signs and pictorial markings — and yet, many park users insist on walking on the cycling path. At the Bukit Timah Mountain Biking Trail, the same phenomenon occurs. Hikers and joggers enjoy access to 5 trails that are off-limits to mountain bikes, and yet, they persist in using the only trail that is open to mountain bikers.

The fact that the mountain biking trail only goes in one direction should give a clue to these hikers. Besides hikers and joggers, clueless teachers from the nearby MOE Adventure Centre regularly bring their charges — which can number up to 30 students in each group — on to the narrow trail.

It is one thing to set a policy where mountain bikers have to give way to the occasional hiker or jogger, but it is another matter altogether when hordes of joggers and hikers clog up a dedicated mountain biking trail, endangering themselves and mountain bikers. On weekends, I encounter more hikers and joggers than monkeys on this trail. It may very well be that the monkeys are more intelligent. Many mountain bikers have crashed whilst avoiding hikers and joggers on this trail.

On sundays, the Bukit Timah Nature Reserve is a zoo. While waiting for Guan Peng, we counted at least 8 joggers and hikers coming down the slope by the parking lot (as well as 6 clueless newbies riding the wrong way). On the first descent (i.e. short, steep concrete slope with potholes in the center), a balding, middle-aged man failed to yield immediately, causing me to switch to an undesired line. When I admonished him that this is a mountain biking trail, not a hiking trail, Baldy decided to wait until I was up the other slope — and him, a safe distance away — before he yelled in reply, "GET LOST!"

Mighty brave words, Baldy. Let me see you on the trail again and I might just run you over and perform donuts and figure-of-8s on that shiny pate of yours.

A little later, while descending a slope, Nic had to swerve hard to avoid another pair of clueless hikers. The crash tore the inner tube on his front wheel. He had to replace it at Echo Valley / Dairy Farm Quarry. It is unclear whether Arthur meant Nic has 2 punctures or Nic mowed down 2 stupid hikers. Nic is considering getting some tungsten carbide studded snow tires to shred stupid hikers into little, manageable chunks (think of a wood chipper).





Back at the same place. Here, we are convincing NicIz2HardKore of the feasibility of bunnyhopping the barrier.

RED JERSEY GUY:  It can be done. Hop the 1st barrier, then jump off your bike. This friendly bush will catch you.
ARTHUR:  It will make a great pic!
BEN:  Think, man! If you don't make it, you might be downgraded to Pes F. You may not even have to serve anymore NS.
NIC [Aside] :  Are these guys my friends? I think they're trying to get me killed.





*SCREEEECH!*





NIC:  Muthafu...!!
ARTHUR:  Smile for the camera!

At Rifle Range Road, I discovered that I had locked out the suspension fork for the entire ride. No wonder I was slipping on all the climbs. Doh!





After a big brunch at Binjai Park (and unsuccessfully trying to con Evie, the Char Siew Pao Babe, into giving the boys a ride back to East Coast), we decided to shed off some mud on Tay Cycle's nice, shiny floor. Here, Nic pulls off a handsfree trackstand on Cloe. At 20.5" (52 cm), Cloe's top tube is the height of Nic's saddle on his 14" (35.6 cm) 1x1 Surly. I.e. any mistake may turn him into a eunuch — this guy is truly hardcore!


Epilogue:
Total distance:  cyclo-computer 11.9 miles (19.3 km) / GPS dead
Total elevation climbed:  Altimeter 810 ft (247 m)

Critical Massholes versus Soccer Mom

(Image from Bike Radar.)

Anyone who has been following the cycling scene will be aware of the recent altercation in San Francisco between Critical Mass riders and a minivan driver from Redwood City. Neither side has admitted fault in the incident.

Some links to bring readers up to speed:

Minivan's rude introduction to Critical Smash

Woman claims SF Critical Mass terrorized her, kids

Two views of mass confusion {Critical Mass}

Accounts of the alleged events differ sharply between the two parties. The gist of the melee is this:

Suburban mom from Redwood City, Susan Ferrando, brings her brood to San Francisco Japan Town for dinner. Driving out, she runs into a horde of Critical Mass riders (their routes are unplanned and never announced beforehand) on their traditional end-of-the-month ride. Trapped along with other drivers behind the riders (with a bunch of screaming brats in the back?), she decided to, in her words, "inch her way through the crowd of cyclists." Whilst doing so, she, in her words again, inadvertently "tapped one of the wheels of a cyclist."

Critical Mass (CM) cyclists accuse the minivan driver of losing her patience, gunning the engine, and weaving through the pack of cyclists, driving like a mad woman. Eventually, she knocked a cyclist over and ran over his bike. Then she tried to escape. The pack chased the hit-and-run driver down, and surrounded her vehicle until the police arrived. During this time, an unknown cyclist swung his bike through the rear window, shattering it.



According to, Susan Ferrando, the minivan driver, she didn't know what Critical Mass was and was simply trying to find a way out of the traffic gridlock caused by the event. She said that she tried to drive carefully through the pack of cyclists when she tapped a rider's wheel. Then, all hell broke loose, with cyclists pounding her vehicle from all sides. Fearing for the safety of her children, she tried to drive away but was chased down, cornered and surrounded by the angry mob, kicking and pummeling the vehicle. One cyclist then shattered her rear window with his bike. Repair estimates for the minivan amount to US$5300.

Much has been written about this event. You can spend an entire day searching and reading opinions about it. I am not going to take sides on this, but I have frequently voiced my distaste toward Critical Mass (CM) in San Francisco. Breaking laws (blowing through red lights and blocking intersections), scaring pedestrians (CM riders do not stop for pedestrians, even when the light is in the latter's favor), causing 2-hour traffic jams every last Friday of the month, vandalizing vehicles, and getting into street fights with automobile drivers, are counter-productive to bicycle advocacy.

At the same time, if Susan Ferrando could feel a "tap" against the wheel of a cyclist while cocooned in 4270 lbs (1941 kg) of steel, one wonders if she is being less than forthcoming in this matter.

It doesn't help that the polarized parties possess a distorted view of each other:


         How Critical Mass riders view automobile drivers.




         How automobile drivers view Critical Mass riders


I am, however, going to post one — just one — comment which I think is the best, and succinctly wraps up the entire issue:

My car was smashed up by critical mass back in the 90s while I was stopped at a traffic light. Hundreds of riders went by, kicking and swinging tire pumps, smashing my headlights and making it impossible to drive the car away. Critical Mass is full of wild-eyed "Stick it to the Man" crazies who want to smash the state, starting with anyone who isn't just as Pee Cee as them. They need a good dose of realty, starting with a jack-boot in the jimmy.

However, I've read statements by witnesses on various cyclist blogs already. The driver knew she knew she hit a rider, she didn't bother to check if she injured the rider, tried to leave the scene. Furthermore, it sounds like she sees having kids in the car as some kind of pass to special treatment and privilege.

Self important, overprivileged suburban mommies and leftist pedal-power fascists are both things we can do without. Let's help them work it out in the San Francisco way by having a peace gathering in Golden Gate Park where they can hold hands, sing kum-by-ya and drink deeply from a washtub full of Guyana grape kool-aid.

         Posted By: Coyoteblue | April 04 2007 at 08:55 AM


So, there you have it. Crazy Critical Mass riders who think that, just because they ride bicycles, traffic laws do not apply to them, and soccer moms who think that, just because they have a brood of kids, the world owes them special privileges.

All the while, Ferrando was screaming, "There are children in this car! There are children in this car!"

If Susan Ferrando has a bunch of kids in her car, why on earth was she trying to drive through a pack of cyclists? Why can't Susan Ferrando wait like everyone else? Other drivers were probably just as pissed off about the delay as Susan Ferrando was, if not more — after all, Susan Ferrando neither lives in San Francisco nor commutes there — but they waited and did not step on the gas to "weave through" the pack of cyclists. What makes Susan Ferrando so special? Just because she was playing Mother Hen to five children?

The "Think of the children!" routine has been done to death by Mrs. Broflovski in South Park, Mrs. Ferrando. American Express membership brings you special privileges, not your five children. Ask any driver — with their sense of entitlement, soccer moms are some of the most dangerous drivers on the road.

At the same time, you have these crazy Critical Mass riders who have the most unbelievable excuses why they can be scofflaws. E.g. blowing stop signs and red lights. The argument goes, it takes more physical effort for a bicycle to regain forward momentum compared to an automobile (where all one has to do is depress the accelerator pedal). But, isn't that what you are out for?  Exercise?

Like a match made in heaven, both parties deserve each other.


Further reading

30 August 2007: Appeals court upholds Critical Mass cyclist's vandalism conviction.

16 February 2010: Federal Judge rules bike groups like Critical Mass must get permits.

26 February 2010: San Francisco police chief plans to crackdown on Critical Mass.

2 March 2010: SFPD to end Criticam Mass? (Don't miss the comments either.)